


Vernal

by ontaemin



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, One Shot, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ontaemin/pseuds/ontaemin
Summary: Change, for Jinki, was like a seasonal occurrence, and much like falling leaves or budding trees, Jinki had no say in the matter. And Taemin - in relation to these phenomena - Taemin was a solstice. Though Jinki does believe he is closer to an equinox - spring, to be specific. He was very comfortable, very temperate. Jinki enjoyed rain very much, and Taemin just the same.





	Vernal

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, it's me again. I've been doing a lot of reading lately, and things that aren't fic for once. I don't know if it shows, but I'm very happy with how this turned out (right now at least, who knows how I'll feel tomorrow lol), so I think if it does, I did something right. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this if you give it a read and, as always, feedback is graciously appreciated. Have a nice week everybody ^^ xx.

Jinki wasn't one to protest such frivolous things as birthday parties, despite how much the man despised such activities. He wasn't a pushy person when he didn't need to be - not with the simple things. It was easy to tell the attendees were having a much better time than he could ever realistically see himself experiencing. He wouldn't go out of his way to stop that; he was a nice person, after all. Or at least he tried to be, most of the time.

Past his mid twenties it seemed futile to celebrate years closer to death, even though it seemed a bit damaging to view it that way; not much could be done for Jinki's thought process at this point. It's hard to not think this way when eating a cake with a number so close to the ones his father, and his father's father, hadn't even seen. It was in his DNA at this point - it was close and impending. Thirty-five was ominous, and hovered over Jinki with the same menacing grey black as a storm cloud. Of course his mother and grandmother and only recently passed great grandmother still tugged along as if there weren't a threat in the world - but, unfortunately for him, Jinki hadn't been blessed with those chromosomes. 

It's not natures fault in the least - Jinki's not blind to his own stupidity in his actions. He had an interference, just like the paternal side of his family did as well. He can't say it'd be entirely fates fault if he were to clock out before the evening was near - his tobacco painted lungs and whiskey marinated liver would like to say otherwise, he thinks. But even despite those things being, what he could safely assume, the key to his end, there wasn't much stopping a man of habit like himself. Life was short and even with his incesssant meddling, Jinki was a man of pleasure, and didn't fancy cutting out anything that brought him such without a very strong reason. Death seemed to be quite pungent, but Jinki clothespinned his nose and took another swig. (He would admit, yes, he was more of an addict than a lush; it was all the same after thirty, though.)

Really, though, the mans aparant short lifespan put a strain things - vices and other sundries. He was up to a pack a day from where he had quit the same day, a year earlier. Back then, it seemed twenty-nine was the perfect age to better ones self, to make an example of all the horrible things you once let twenty-something you get away with. Thirty, unfortunately, laughed in the face of its previous years naïvety; it disagreed with nearly everything you had to offer it. Thirty, despite being such an evenly round, appealing number, was rather vicious, and violent as well. From where his extended adolescent only ached, numb and only a tad bit bothersome, thirty pricked. It was a strange pain in comparison - very sharp and very purposeful and Jinki cant quite say it was even similarly easy to ignore. It was razor wire around the pale expanse of Jinki's throat. Rusty and dull it never cut - only rubbed and infected his blood. He couldn't breath, he couldn't bend. Perhaps it was an infection: it felt quite similar. 

He was nice, Jinki. It's an odd dichotomy, the inner and outter self; Jinki did not believe it for a second. Though he had gone to school for things in the business world, Jinki was full aware of Freud and his personalities that the motherfucker (quite literally, or so he very clearly hoped) conjured up. Maybe it was fun for talk or good coursework for those with little drive in life, but as a whole, it was useless. Jinki was Jinki - and he'd leave it at that. 

But - oh, okay, well - yes, maybe Jinki's actions did not reflect that of his thoughts; who's did? He was an adult, and time spent telling the truth, the hard truth and giving tough love, was time wasted, business ventures ruined. A fake smile was much easier and exponentially more profitable than an honest answer could ever wish to be. And, besides, those who were honest had a mind to marvel at; they didn't have the rot that resided inside Jinki's own skull. He'd keep quiet, for everyone's sake; nobody wanted to see that. 

Rain is an odd occurrence. It's December and Jinki _knows_ it has to be cold; he could bet money. That night, his thirty-first birthday, it takes all of Jinki's power not to leave from where he's sat by the window of the boardroom watching the storm, more fascinated by it than anything his employees had to offer him. They hover around him as if they party weren't for him, anyways. Just a glance around the room brings images of Christmas decorations and red and green frosting on a cake supposedly made for him - its not hard to find the truth, they didn't quite try and hide it, either. His unfortunate birthdate was to blame for this, it had happened plenty as a child, merging with Christmas and being left behind because of it; he didn't mind though, because bitrthdays had become nothing but a reminder of his fears. 

But with the rain, again, Jinki feels a childhood need bubble in the deepest pits of his stomach. A six year old sat in front of a plate of sweets, told not to touch - Jinki feels just as matchably antsy. He wants to ditch the party and his coworkers and run to find a window that opens, unlike the one he's sat beside, just to stick a hand or arm out. Or to run down the fire exit and into the parking lot just to get drenched. He knows the rain outside is incomparable to that of spring or summer or even late fall rain, it was its own. He knows its a sensation he'd quite like to feel against his cheeks, soaked into his suit. He doesn't, though, he's nowhere near the adventurer he would like to be. Not even for the small things. And when he leaves the party, the rain has come to a halt, anyways. 

There was a turning point from all these things Jinki never thought he could do. Somewhere, he's not sure of the exact date, but it seemed to have began when he met Taemin. He hates to attach reasoning for change to him - after all, he quite liked Taemin. Quite a lot, actually. But even with those feelings, he was a tidal wave from the beginning. Jinki feared this because changed seemed to be nothing but the cause of his countless demises. Of course, Jinki could not keep himself from change either - since that in itself would be a deviation from the norm and would cause disrupt just as grand. Change was like a seasonal occurrence, and much like falling leaves or budding trees, Jinki had no say in the matter. And Taemin - in relation to these phenomena - Taemin was a solstice. Though Jinki does believe he is closer to an equinox - spring, to be specific. He was very comfortable, very temperate. Jinki enjoyed rain very much, and Taemin just the same. 

He did come like a gust of wind, as any spring nightfall would. Jinki half expected every aspect of this boy to be just as cliche and sickly - he never fancied poetry, but he took a liking to the kid, oddly enough. Taemin wasn't much of a spectacle unless you knew to look for his countless beauties; he blended in quite easily, but he was far more attractive than the lot of a crowd. He had a rather shockingly young face, so round and youthful, in fact, Jinki gawked at him when he informed them of the four year gap between their birthdays - he was just ready to turn twenty-eight, unbelievably. He did seem like a liar - and later did prove himself to be one, when it served him right or (much more often) when he was bored - that was the truth, though, and the boy's mother (who quite loved Jinki later on, god knows why) could attest to this. 

It didn't feel great to have an attraction to him. Apart their unmatched social status and the age he first believed the boy to have, he was still just that: a boy. And a stranger, nonetheless - but Jinki was lying to himself if he were to claim anything but his gender for the reason it felt wrong. He wasn't a prude - Jinki was living in the modern age, after all. The only person he could see being reasonably upset by these feelings would have been is father, and Jinki's sure he wasn't even aware of the concept of love at the time of his passing. It's strange, really, because within the beginning window of Jinki's infatuation he worried so much more about love, than the more plausible: lust. It was clear from the start he harboured much more than a physical desire, and perhaps that was the true reason he was afraid. If he didn't let go of these things, it was easy to see how it would end. 

Jinki let it go, then, it seemed, because an end had not been imaginable for the longest time. Things had changed to the point where it makes the mans skin crawl oftentimes when he remembers things from their past. But they were still happy, a little too common with each other, but happy. Jinki wonders if their bickering is the beginning of the end, or just another start. That maybe this is who they'll always be, together. Two old men fighting over loose facts loudly and arrogantly, each too stubborn to admit fault even when they knew they were at it. It's not as if Jinki could imagine himself growing old with the boy; after all, he had a expiration date he was inching towards at a rather respectable speed. But if that future somehow happened to pan out, he's not sure he would really mind. It makes him smile to himself, in those rare moment you do such alone. Even after years of loving Taemin, it still makes his heart stutter to admit to himself how much he liked the guy. Maybe, he thinks, that was the kind of love everyone was chasing after in the movies. Because, really, Jinki can't imagine anything more perfect. 

What Jinki liked about Taemin couldn't really be put into words. Just thinking that, he knows the boy would go crazy if he were to tell him. Although Jinki considered himself a romantic, Taemin was the one much more deserving of the title. He swooned for the smallest of gestures, though only internally. He did his best to hide it, god knows why. Jinki liked to let Taemin know all the things he felt, in grand, beautiful ways. There were gestures that could be straight out of those romantic movies Taemin claimed to hate but spent watching with Jinki a few too many times to really make him believe that - sometimes they had been stolen when the movie garnered a good response from Taemin; Jinki had no remorse. But as much as Jinki enjoyed doing these things he could tell, if anyone loved them, it was Taemin. Those thick lips Jinki had fallen for always perched, pinned behind his front teeth as Jinki riddles off the thousandth soliloquy of his lifetime. Taemin only ever gave a bat of his eyelashes and a coy smile. Of course Jinki was aware of his true feelings; he could read him like a book. 

But, anyways, Jinki was unaware of how to explain his attraction to the boy. Maybe his partner could form a better reasoning, but that didn't seem logical, either. They spoke of everything their hearts desired, but never anything too deep, despite being, what they mutually referred to each other as, soulmates - groans from the crowds of their friends (they ignored it, traded butterfly kisses instead). They spoke in metaphors and code never an _I love you_ but a _here's why_ \- it worked quite well. He took a liking to Taemin, that was all, the reasoning for such interest never really crossed his mind. Taemin did, though. He was about the only thing on Jinki's mind - ever. 

It started from Jinki working late so often he would order delivery to fuel his overtime. Taemin, or as Jinki referred to him through the months of unnecessary take out, Chinese food boy (though, not Chinese; Jinki knows this because his first joke and first real laugh from the boy was in relation to this fact, he remembers it like it was hours ago, despite its near half decade withering) - he came speeding down the road with the unmissable sound of his persimmon motorbike nearly minutes after his order was placed. It was easy to see the feelings Jinki harboured for the boy, though shameful at the time, were mutual. He had such debilitating fantasies of making love to the boy amongst crumples papers and grease soaked take out boxes that meetings made his mind foggy just glancing at the dark wood of the boardroom table. It had become a problem quicker than it became anything good for Jinki. Of course, this was change, and if Jinki trusted his past all he knew was to avoid this boy like the plague. 

It's not entirely Jinki's fault the dream prophecy fulfils itself before he can even think to stop it - the young boy on the scooter was mainly to blame, and not just because his beauty trapped Jinki - though he wouldn't have been surprised if it ended that way, he was rather hypnotizing - no, the boy perpetrated it at his own volition. Taemin, as he told Jinki his name was, hopping up on his desk onto those bloody papers, folding his thighs over each other - it was a crime in the making. He wanted something and he knew Jinki would give it to him, it was impossible to say it was Jinki's fault for slipping into the pitfalls. He would bear witness, completely honestly, that this boy was, in fact, a criminal mastermind. He had the evidence, slobbered over the column of his bitten neck, dripping, sticky over his knuckles, DNA and all. It's definitely hard to call Taemin wrong for seducing Jinki, though, because to get a person who dreams of nothing but bloody murder to finally kill, wasn't really a ploy. And besides - Jinki had been the one to make the order in the first place. 

Never in a thousand years would Jinki have expected that to become what it was today, though maybe he didn't give himself enough credit. After being with Taemin once more the same; twice only a bit of heavy petting, though glorious, unfortunately ended before skin hit skin due to it being his work hours, after all; and three times - Taemin on his knees below Jinki's desk and those pretty, pretty lips calling his name and commanding him from below, christ, Jinki was definitely in love. And not just in those rather heated moments. After it cooled off, after they had kissed or gotten their clothing straight - after Jinki licked himself off Taemins face and lips as if it weren't the filthiest thing on the planet (it was, and Taemin didn't need much past a push of Jinki's palm to the front of his jeans before he finished with his dirty faced buried in his chest with the most taught, angelic whine Jinki had ever heard - how in the hell was he this lucky?), Jinki still thought these overly flowery things. After work and after not seeing him or touching him for days, after jerking off and not even wanting to think of sex from the amount of shame in his bloodstream, Jinki still felt the same way. It was concerning to say the least, especially considering he had not an inkling of how the boy felt for him past his interest of what was in his pants. He didn't even know his surname. 

_"I think I'm in love with you."_ Is the message Jinki leaves in the delivery instructions section on his last ever order of late night Chinese food. 

Jinki stands with a heavy heart, watching from his office as the elevator dings, only seeing a flash of the boys kumquat helmet before he's gone again. He rushes to try and meet him and knows he's too late, but runs nonetheless. He stares down at the food he won't eat and scribbled on a tangerine sticky note Taemin says, _"You don't know what love is, Jinki."_ He sure he's right. But if he wasn't in love, why did it hurt this bad to be left?

It was hard to tell if it was the end of a relationship or just their first bump; Jinki knows that happens, he knows its normal. It doesn't seem like it should be, though. Universal feelings shouldn't hurt this bad. His evicrated neck is no longer the cause for concern, his heart, much more, feels like the cause of turmoil. Like a love song stuck in his head he cant seem to shake the lyrics nor the melody or even the thought of it. Of Taemin. That; that was an infection. 

Besides his mental anguish finding its way to slip past the barrier into reality to hurt him physically, a real pain does begin. At work, one morning, faster than any feeling from the past few months had built. It tingles from the tips of his fingers, worn from age or overuse, he doesn't know, it travels up his arm and spreads over his chest. It feels like the ache consumes his whole body until it most definitely does not, and begins to stab at his his heart and his heart only. Like a shard of glass between atriums; he thinks to blame Taemin as he hits a wall of blackness and silence in the ambulance. Doctors tell him otherwise, though not completely. They mention how its abnormal for this to happen to someone his age, they had said that about his father. He's advised to take what seems like pounds of medications he slowly begins to believe are poisoned and - they tell him - too cut out fast food from his diet. He thinks, now, that doesn't seem quite that hard. 

A year later, without whatever Taemin was by his side, his heart disintegrates. Despite everything he's done, despite heeding their orders, it changed from an organ to dead weight in his chest. It feel like he is, quite literally, dying of a heartbreak. As much of a ridiculous, poetic lie that seems to be, not a day went by since their end that Jinki had not thought of him. Not a day went by where he didn't feel hurt because of it. He changed every single thing to better himself, but could not let go of Taemin. No matter how much he hurt him. What a horrible response Jinki gives when they ask so cheerfully what his motivation in life is; _"Nothing."_ he says, _"I have none. I'm useless."_ he says, and they stay silent for the remainder of their time with him. 

It was not love. He learns this, he observes it. It was never the love, or lack thereof, that began to kill Jinki. Because it returns, like another April breeze, thick lips and youthful features and all. Love sobs over the stitches in his chest and kisses his chapped lips one too many times not to be dangerous in somewhere as public as a hospital - private room or not. The physicality of the heart only served as a metaphor for Jinki to begin with, but he finds it hard not to lace his feelings into the artificial organ. It's new, from where it was tattered and torn much like his own philosophies on love and life, Jinki thinks maybe his outlook should reflect what he had been given. And tells Taemin, after a year apart, that, yes, "I do love you." - Taemin cries, and Jinki knows it's because he was wrong. This whole time. 

It's nice to be taken care of. Through their time apart Taemin had found his way into Jinki's age group; he looks no different. How envious Jinki is of his beauty - how much he marvels, as well. He is as kind as he is attractive, and as loving mentally as he had been physically. Jinki does not dare to think it could go wrong, and bathes in Taemin's warmth, instead. He resides in him, a little home he had made for Jinki inside his heart. Safe and secure - he'd never leave his halo if he didn't have to. Of course, life wasn't that kind, and he had to grow on his own once more. 

Taemin was a change, but he himself, was an unrelenting force, unlike most. It is healthy to grow, Jinki knows this. He did not believe it, though, and finds himself content living with someone who seems to agree. Perhaps they weren't too attractive to anyone but each other, and Jinki thinks he likes it that way. They weren't like most. "We're perfect for each other, you know?" Taemin calls him silly, but spends no effort trying on disproving him. 

Oddly enough, his thirty-fourth year was nothing but golden. It rains in February, when he's no longer working, and Taemin stays home - their home - to take care of him. He lets himself run outside this time. He lets his body and dirty sweats become drenched and glances back only to find his lover nearly in tears of laughter, clutching his stomach as he races to their front door to gawk at the freak that was his boyfriend. It's not stupidity, as Taemin calls out as an insult, it is growth. Change, somehow, for the better. Jinki had changed with the seasons and he did not mind - it did not hurt. He realizes the friction he had once experienced was nothing but that - the pain would have subsided if he had just let it flow through him. Change was never the reason for the pain; Jinki was. He lets his inhibitions sink into the sewers with the rainwater and clumps of snow. He brings the rain under the overhang by their door where Taemin stood sheltered, and wraps his soaking body around Taemin's warm and dry, to draw a shrill screech. Of course, Jinki can steal a kiss, because Taemin was never all to good and keeping them to himseld - he never really wanted to. Taemin smiles, calls Jinki crazy, and its his favourite memory, thus far. 

They make love much less these days, but its still in their air. It still resides in every action for the other, but it no longer comes down in thundershowers anymore. It's a cotton cloud on a otherwise clear day and the puddles after Jinki's revelation shower. It's a stolen kiss after Taemin brings him lunch at the office, clearly scared to see him back somewhere where stressed hangs in abundance. It's the way comfort settles between them from where they seemed to be nearly high school sweethearts; just as nervous. They are a home in each other, no doubt about it. They're not too much of a movie anymore, or at least not an interesting one, but they're what Jinki is so glad to wake up for everyday. 

Jinki hits thirty-five without even a thought of his past worries until the night is over. A lot happens that night. Not particularly all good - Jinki had developed a taste for solace over anything (granted, Taemin was there, but he never wasn't) and still does not enjoy parties at all. But Taemins a sugar cube he holds under his tongue taking shots of tequila - a bit of a questionable use of another human being to aid in the pain of others but, well, it worked. And Taemin quite liked parties, strangely enough. 

Nobody says anything, but Jinki knows they know. He's thirty-five and the only person who has ever been glad to see him has been a boy with skinny legs and wandering hands - they're not blind. It's hard to tell if they're judgemental or not. Every employee hides their feelings, negative or otherwise, for fear of being reprimanded - Jinki was their boss after all, and never had a history of being a rather personable one, either. He's sure more than a few of the people at the party don't take too kindly to the way he stands in the corner, ignoring them to watch Taemin tie a cherry stem in his mouth (failing, but Jinki's always game to watch him try something like that, he had a thing for those lips, after all), but Jinki doesn't care. He doesn't care for those who seem to gloss over his happiness in favour of their own prejudices. Taemin shrugs with cherry red, sticky lips and pops another poor excuse for a fruit into his mouth, and Jinki has eyes on nobody else, for once. 

And Jinki goes on, thirty-five and more fearless than ever. Maybe it was delayed, and maybe he'll be gone before Christmas or at least fading by Valentine's Day - but he's not scared of it in the least. It's no longer a plague that sickens him to the core. The revelation would have been much more useful a few years back - Jinki wished he didn't have to suffer through half of thirty with such worry, but he knows there was no other way. 

There was an order to things, in the universe. A set rule book everything abided by - Jinki had yet to find these writings, but he stopped searching the night of his birthday, wrapped in Taemin's warmth as if he were a gift to the world in himself. He wouldn't dare to let himself think of the word fate; he was a realist, seven billion people existed on this earth, a multitude of infinities for how things could turn out - he was in no way meant to feel anything, to do anything. But, yes, it's a thin argument, because, no, Jinki could not imagine himself anywhere but here, inching his way closer to someone he told his colleagues was merely his roommate - his bestfriend, that wasn't entirely false, but they were more, and he should be honest about that. Standing with him Jinki's eyes say so much more than a casual, work appropriate conversation. And this, letting himself do this, felt like the last change for a long time, or the last taxing one. Whatever would come after would be nothing compared to what he had pushed through for years before. Taemin was the rainstorm he wanted to run into, and this time, Jinki makes not even a thought of an effort to stay dry, and loops his hands around the boy's waist, and sticks his tongue down his sugary sweet throat in front of his peers and in front of the world to prove that now - now, Jinki could. And that was a good change.

[END]


End file.
